Wednesday, May 31, 2006

Johnson, You've Got to Get Your Numbers Up

This past Sunday my best friend Anna went on a date. The next day, when I saw her, she seemed a little depressed. "Rachael, I didn't sleep with him." I explained that was completely fine as it was only their first date. "No, you don't get it," Anna protested "I had to sleep with him."
"Why?" I asked.
"Because he would've been number 17 and then I'd be done. That'd be it. Then the I could have a relationship."
"What the hell are you talking about?" I pestered.
"I didn't find him attractive. I couldn't bring myself to hug him good-bye never mind have sex with him. I'm such a failure." Anna put her head in her hands and began to sob. I rubbed her back trying to comfort her, but I had no idea what was going on in that head of hers. I didn't know what to say. I opened my mouth and these words fell out, "Do you want a chipwich?" Anna didn't answer, she blew her nose. We were silent for like 6 minutes and all I could think about was the chipwich. I started getting irritated. Why should her nutzo behaviour interfere with my snacking? I guess she could sense my restlessness beacause she finally began to speak. I might be paraphrasing as I was only half listening as I daydreamed about icecream between two cookies surrounded by chocolate chips.
"See, Rachael, a bunch of years ago I casually dated a not so young man. I hadn't had many sexual partners at the time and was unsure of myself sexually. And my sexual doubt was like an albatross and I was like the Ancient Mariner. The Mariner had this uncontrollable urge to tell the story of how he shot the albatross to every person he encountered. Well, back in those days I too felt compelled to tell everyone of how few people I had had sex with. This man I dated casually, asked me how many people do I think I should have had sex with. I told him 17 people. So now I have to have sex with 17 people. I'm up to 16 people! Where's my 17th?

"What happens after number 17?"
"I then can have reciprocal loving monogomous happy romantic relationship."
"Yes, I put that number out into the universe so now the universe has made it so. Just like when I was dating Graham, who I LOVED!!!, but felt like he should meet a girl who he's more comfortable with. I said that out loud to your friend Kerisa, and the next thing you know he's marrying some woman he's more comfortable with. Or the time I flipped out infront of you and your friend Jesse and exclaimed how I wanted to redate somebody. And then I did. So now I have to sleep with a 17th person because I said."
"Anna, the world doesn't work like that. You can't just say what you want and then you get it. Otherwise we'd all be millionares."
"Of course. But if you say it earnestly without thinking it might come true. Without asking for it to come true, it fucking comes true. Even if later on you don't want it to come true."
"Did you ever think that maybe you can't find a dude to sleep with because you're not ready to commit to someone."
"Oh look who woke-up and started channelling Dr. Phil."
"Me? You're the one screaming and making no sense."
"Ahh, just go get your chipwhich. I need to find a non-repulsive #17."

Tuesday, May 30, 2006

Dating Tip # XV4b: Getting Him To Commit

Here is a tip to get your man to commit to you without asking him to commit. This tip is for the modern new millenium woman, not for our foremothers. Those women of yesteryear would tell you, "Just get 'accidently' pregnant. Once your preggers he'd have no choice but to marry you." That might have worked in the 1950s when communities could peer preasure a young man to marry his knocked-up girlfriend. Motivating the new groom to enlist in the military to fight the commies. And once he dies or is crippled he can no longer have sexual relations with other women.

Too bad the 50s are over-- no more commies, no more father's with shotguns. We live in the age of quicky divorces and birthcontrol. Further, the old way stuck you with a kid. For the modern woman I propose a new solution to the old problem of commitment.

First, try to fall for a guy who earns very little money. This shouldn't be hard as the poor out number the wealthy something like a shitload to 1, so the odds are in your favor. Second, have your broke-ass man take you out on dates, but never ever go dutch. Don't even think about paying or treating. If you must, lie about forgetting your wallet. If that gets old tell him the government has frozen your bank account and credit cards because they suspect you of funding terrorists. Whatever. Soon he'll be out of funds. No funds equals no means to woo other women. Ta! Da! By default he has committed. Third, make sure you reinforce the stereo-type that women don't like destitute men. Remind him that you are doing him a favor by dating him. This way his male ego will stay in check and he won't have the balls to approach other women. You can soften the blow with a white lie. For example, you believe in him and know he'll make something of himself someday. You better hope not, though.

Now here's the best part. Since you never asked him to be exclusive you can date and mess around with all the men you want. It's non- commitment without the jealousy. It's that simple and without the messy birthing.

Monday, May 29, 2006

We're Friggin Brilliant

I feel my generation and the generations succeeding mine have gotten a bad wrap these last 20 years or so. All I've heard from baby-boomers and other fogies is how annoying and incorrect our use of the word "like" is. These complainers have quite the narrow vision. Did it ever occur to them that we youngsters are simply more poetic than they could ever dream of being? Did it ever occur to them we are in love with the simile?

Like I don't think so. See it's like I don't think so, not that I actually don't think so. If actually didn't think so, I wouldn't write it or say it because I wasn't actually thinking of it, so how would I know to write or say it.

Friday, May 26, 2006


I saw the broadway hit musical, "Avenue Q" last night. I witnessed puppet sex. I laughed. The whole audience laughed. Some people think it's not nice to laugh at the puppets being intimate. But puppets laugh at us when they watch us having sex. I say if they can laugh then so we can we. Some people ask, "Do you really want to sink to the puppet's level?" I respond. "Hell's yeah!"

Besides the puppets are taking all our acting jobs. Are they even documented workers. Them and the stinking British, if the British, Puppets and British Puppets -especially- weren't so amusing to watch copulating I'd say deport 'em all.

You'd Think It'd Be Easy

You're thinking to yourselves it must be so east to be Rachael. She's so self-involved what concerns could she possibly have? All she thinks about about is herself what a cinch. You imagine I don't have sleepless nights worrying about Tsunami victims, global warming, or whatever else might be going on outside of my apartment. Well, I'm here to write that it's not easy at all to be this totally self-involved. My lack of acknowledgement that other people and things exist leaves no one to blame for my pain but me. You all can blame your parents for why you're so fucked up. I can't. I don't even remember who my parents are.All day long and into the wee hours of the night I berrate myself for all my mistakes. I can't remember the last time I slept. If I fall asleep, I stop thinking about myself and I can't have that.

I once fell 3 stories out an apartment window. A normal, well-adjusted person would blame Newton and/or his law of gravity. In my self involved world, I don't even know who the hell Newton is. If he had asked me out on a date or could book me for a paying gig I might notice him, but since that never happened it might as well be he hasn't happened. And gravity. I have no idea. If gravity could clear up my complexion maybe I'd embrace the notion or get my hair to unfrizz, but...

I have no idea who any celebrities nor do I know anything about there lives, like who's doing heroin or who's sleeping with the Dali Llama. Because I don't know, I can't make small talk and if I can't make small talk I can't get anyone to listen when I speak on the subject of me. It's a sick cyclical cycle.

So no, my loyal readers and those of you who have googled "nuruto porn" it's far from easy to be completely wrapped up in yourself.

Wednesday, May 24, 2006

But What Are They Hearing?

The government wants the right to tap our cellphone calls sans warrant. Bastards! Most wireless companies are complying. Bastards!

I could go on about how the government continues to trample our civil rights, but I'd rather write about how assine they are.

What kind of information do they think they're going to gain from listening to cell phone conversations? "We're going to storm the ca-garble static garble fuzz static."
"I can't hear you, Claude."
"Are you even there?"
"Wait. Can you hear me now? I've moved toward the window."
"It's a little better."
"Wait. How about this?"
"Yeah that's good."
"I'm doing an hand stand with one hand and using my legs as antenea."
"You're crystal clear."
"OK. We're going to storm the--(Crash) (Bang!) Ou! OOOO!"
"Claude, are you OK?"
"I'll just email you tomorrow."

Bring that transcript to the courts.

90 Birthdays. Over Kill.

My maternal granmother turns 90 years old today. The family is throwing her a big bash on June 11th. That's very optimistic of them. Not that she's sick, but she is NINETY! Anyone taking odds that my grandmother has three more weeks in her?

I think throwing a party for someone 90 is kind of pointless. "Wow, a birthday party. Amazing. It's not like I haven't already had 89 of these."
"No, Grandma we got you a stripper that pops out of an edible cake. You can have your cake and eat it too."
"Yeah, my girlfriends did that for me for 43rd birthday. The cake winds up tasting like deordant."
"OK, but we also have sword swallowers and fire jugglers."
"Great, it's just like my 3rd birthday in Poland. Except my father was the one juggling the fire. You going to resurrect my dad? Ah don't bother we did that on my 67th birthday. That was a party."

Testing Your Attractiveness

Hey ladies, you know you aren't attractive when the girlfriends of your platonic male friends have no problem with you hanging out with their boyfriends.

So if some girl is pulling a Yoko Ono on you and breaking up a friendship look on the bright side, you're hot. And, if no woman ever cared that you befriended her man, look on the bright side you probably have a great personality.

Tuesday, May 23, 2006

Dodgers Abandoned Brooklyn and You Abandoned Me

After I you break up with someone don't you just constantly root against their favorite sports team. I wish the Denver Broncos nothing but losing seasons. May they never win a game. Yeah, how does it feel? Sucks. Right? They take the field you have a sense of hope and then they lose and you're disappointed. You're shattered. You're crying like a baby. Not so fun is it?

Monday, May 22, 2006

"I love a guy with a good sense of humor." Really?

As I listened to Bob Dylan and Johnny Cash sing about the "Girl of the North Country Fair" over and over and over again this weekend I realized why some people consider stand-up comedy a lesser art form than every other art form, with the exception of mime. Stand-up comedy is not going to get you laid. It's not going to help you win the girl back. Meanwhile, every other type of artist can use their talents to help their heart, or their groin. A muscian can write a beautiful heartfelt song, a painter can paint a portrait, a poet write a poem, a welder weld a monument--fucking impressive. Hell, artists can even help other non-artist get the girl. I'm sure many a sorority sister was wooed when a frat boy popped in John Mayer's "Your body is a Wonderland." And that's not even a good song. Nor is it sincere. But the comic--NO!

Picture it:

Hey, Melissa I wrote a joke about how I think your zit cream is sexy. Maybe we could go out sometime.

Hey, Jane I just wrote five minutes on your sexual inadequacies and it killed tonight. They loved it. You're a hit. You're my muse. Take me back. What do you say?

She Loves Him She Loves Him Not

Several months ago the NY Post ran a story about that moment on a date when a guy blows it. No, not his penis. No, not someone else's penis. The premise was the date was good until the dude screws it up with ridiculousness, like using the word "diffident" incorrectly, leading the lady to never want to socialize with this fellow ever again.

Retarded. Women don't' work that way. I disagree with the whole article. First off, it's just written to belittle men. I'm thinking maybe the author of the article had a little heartbreak and wanted some revenge. Should the whole male gender be ridiculed because one relationship didn't work out? I say no. Secondly, and more importantly, If a lady likes a fella she likes him. She could go on a date and the lad could stick french fries up his nose, and the girl would think, "Wow, that's gross, but he looks kind of cute that way." Where as a guy she's really not feeling could ask how much he should leave for the tip and she would think to herself, "What the fuck? He can't even do simple math. Does he think there's going to be a date number two?" Barring some malicious act of violence or hateful speech a woman isn't going to let one little incident or 8 little incidents desuade her from dating a guy she digs. He could be completely irritating and immature and if the lass enjoys gentleman she'll bitch about what an immature irritating bastard he is but the corner of her mouth will be smiling. Why? Because that's what you do when you like someone. You smile like an asshole.

Friday, May 19, 2006

For the 20 and 30 somethings

In romantic relationships don't you think you should sleep with someone first before they become your friendster or myspace buddy? At least have a first date?

I think Anna is moving way too fast with her latest male interest. They've gone from a couple of emails straight to a friendster relationship AND a myspace relationship. Slow down girl!

Thursday, May 18, 2006


Two weeks ago on a Sunday, I washed dishes--Professionaly! Jealous. I was able to land this gig because I graduated college Magna Cum Laude. The Job had a bunch of perks: two free meals, a glass of wine at the end of my shift, and cash payment. However, that's not why this job was awesome. The best perk is my mother's reaction. Everytime I bring up the night I was a dishwasher to my mother I get to watch a tiny knife twist in her heart. That's hard to beat, people.

Wednesday, May 17, 2006

Jack's away

Jack’s out of town this week. He had to go to some sort of convention where do-gooders convene to discuss non-violent peace keeping techniques. Jack was excited to unveil his latest peace keeping exercise, the “Peace Circle.” The "Peace Circle"(register ed trademark) Jack pleads with warring tribes to sit in a circle together, legs folded. Next, all the tribe members draw straws to determine who has to go close their eyes behind the nearest tree, bolder, or Coca Cola plant. This person is called the "boulder schmuck.". After the boulder schmuck hides out of hear shot fromt he group they, again draw straws. This time to determine who gets to be the “Peace Initiator." The “Peace Initiator” begins to move his/her hands or feet rhythmically. Like snapping his/her fingers or slapping his/her thighs with his/her hands. The rest of the people in the circle have to follow the movements in time. The Peace Initiator can and should change the rhythmic movement from time to time. However, the rest of the people have to change their movements as well. Then the boulder schmuck comes back to the cirlce. He/She stands in the center of the circle and has three chances to guess who the Peace Initiator is. The whole group’s goal is to help trick the boulder schmuck.

“And this brings the tribes together?” I asked. “No, but they’re too busy playing Peace Circle to kill one another.” Yeah I don’t get it either. It’s OK Jack doesn’t know what a tag to a joke is, so I guess we’re even.

Anyway, because Jack was out of town, I decided to adorn myself in a skirt. Yes, that’s right a skirt. This tomboy here donned a skirt. I wanted to see if I still had it. Turns out no. Not one offer. Not even a construction site whistle. But Anna pointed out something. I never had it. So nothing's lost.

Monday, May 15, 2006

Mother's Day Memories

For Mother's Day I had an early dinner at my grandparents' house with my own parents. I got some great career advice. After hearing me tell a story about my mother's cat, my grandmother said, "Rachael, you're really good. That's what you should do. Be an animal impersonator." Just call me Rich Little Doolittle. aarf aarf meow.

Parenta Code

"Rachael," you're saying to me through your computer screen, "When I read this blog day in and day out, fanatically, I find information found in some posts conflict with information found in other posts. Sometimes you talk about having dated someone recently, but then you talk about how in love you are with your boyfriend, Jack. And, Rachael what's with that completely nuts best friend of yours, Anna?"

Today I will try to explain to you the labrynth that is ....The ParentaCode. I would say it's very similar to the forthcoming movie based on the book by the same title, The Davinci Code. However, I've not read that book nor have I seen the movie. And I doubt I will see that movie. So the ParentaCode is based on what I thought the Davinci Code was about before I saw some of the movie trailers. I now know that the Davinci Code has a murder mystery in it. The Parenta Code has no murder mystery. Not yet anyway. Though, I do reserve the right to kill someone, cover it up, and then plant clues to my crime on this blog. We're getting ahead of ourselves here.

There are contradictions on this blog my astitute readers because there are contradictions in the bible, and this blog is nothing if not epic. If you read Genisus you'll notice two Adam and Eve stories back to back. One has them being created at the same time and the other has Eve created from Adam's rib. Yeah, holy shit! So if God can have two truths then why not Parenta? And unlike the divine one I'm not so lazy as to have other people right my stupendous tale for me. I don't think any of those writers got paid. God's kind of like Viacom that way, cheap and exploitive. Don't get me wrong at this point I'd love to be exploited by Viacom because unlike God they do pay something.

So my understanding of the Davinci Code is that there were hidden messages about God in the bible and Davinci knew all about it and then painted hidden messages about the hidden messages in his paintings. Literate people could decode the bible while illiterate people could decode the pretty pictures. If a person "broke" the code then that person was previe to more information. More information is fun. And that's just as it is here at "smallhands ick." There are secret messages placed in these blogposts except they're not about God or Davinci or sculptures. They're about another great diety--me.

The ParentaCode was designed to passive aggressively desseminate information to people or persons who may or may not read the blog. Who may or may not care about what is blatantly written never mind what has secretly been encoded. Then ParentaCode scholars along with the general public read these post, but only the scholars and the people or persons whom these messages were directed detect said messages, possibly.

For example, if you take the post about my grandmother suggesting I become a professional animal impersonator rearrange the letters and sentences you will get completely different words and sentence. I have no idea what they are, but my subconscious might. So you can decode messages I don't even know I've placed.

Another example, if we take my post entitled "Odyseus" where Jack comes home from his long journey it can be ascertained by ParentaCode scholars that I am indeed educated and to some extent smart, despite my glaring errors in spelling and grammar. I was able to see how the 100% true events that unfolded in my own life paralleled that of the Greek epic, The Odyssey.

I think it's all very clear now. Wow, that was a lot easier than I thought.

Friday, May 12, 2006

Why I'm so Glad I'm in a Relationship

People, I'm so glad I'm dating Jack. Not just because he's friggin awesome. The awesomist! But because dating sucks. I could just imagine me going on a date with some dude who I had met two weeks prior at a party. I'm sure he'd be decent looking which would be the reason I probably would have fooled around with after said party, but I'm sure I wouldn't really actually like him. I imagine I'd find myself talking to a dude who finds out I'm a comedian and then feels the need to attempt to be funny when he lacked such an ability. I could just picture it: after an hour of chit chat at the party I decide that I want to make out with this fella, only to meet his slightly cuter less awkward friend. Unfortunately, I doubt if I were single I'd have the skills to switch men mid-party. I'd wind up hooking up with the original unfunny guy which would be enjoyable, partly because he'd stopped talking. I'd get carried away in the after glow of "getting a little" so i'd think, "Yes, let me email him. Let us arrange to meet again. Maybe I'll get some more."

I could just invision us walking down Manhattan's 2nd avenue bumping into a number of people I know. I can see it now, I would wind up running into a comic who recently broke-up with his girlfriend of a year. I know I'd say something like, "You two are handling your break up really well. I'd totally be crushed if I were either one of you. I'd be weeping. A year's a long time. I'd probably be stalking the ex at this point." Which I'm sure would be prossessed by my date as "Abandon ship! Abandon ship. Fucking crazy bitch. Get out now while you still have your testicles." Little would he know I only want him for sex. But how could he know?

So thank god I'm in a wonderful, magnificent, loving relationship with Jack. Jack doesn't think I'm perfect but he loves me anyway, and I him.

Because I could just see me asking my date about his friend I had met at that party held two weeks ago. And then wondering, while he was answering, how I could get his friend's number. I know me. Quickly, my mind would probably shift back to my broken up friends. I know if I were single I'd wind up dwelling on their break up and continue to talk about it. If I had never met Jack I doubt I would have dated anyone for more than 3 months or so. I'm sure I'd share that information trying to down play the stalking comment earlier. I might even be so bold as to say, "If I had a relationship that lasted a year I'd throw myself a congratulations party for not running away." I think if I were single for 28 years and then had year long relationship a party would definitely be in order.

But obviously, I'm not single. I'm overly capable of having not only a long-term relationship but a long distance one. I also know how to live with a boyfriend when he's in employment transition. I know how to adjust to not living with him after he finally finds a place to live. God, I'm a superstar of love!

However, I could see if I were single how a date could end with us discussing how awkward the whole evening was. I could see me walking to the Q train on canal thinking, "How can I get one of my ex-romantic partners to have non-commital, non-dating sex with me. That would be perfect. I know that these ex-types won't kill me while we're having sex, because in the 5 weeks or 10 weeks we dated they didn't. We already had sex so we could continue to better our sex life together." However, I'm sure the single me wouldn't even know where to begin to even broach that subject. Because I'm sure the single me wouldn't be friends with most people I've dated after we've dated.

Good thing the single me is a completely hypothetical scenario. Luckily, I get to have sex day in and day out with an amazing man. God, just thinking about me being single makes me shudder.

Thursday, May 11, 2006

Anna gets Dating Advice

My best friend Anna and I were drinking with our buddy Kevin last weekend. Anna relayed a good many stories about her dating and sex life. She talked about the time this dude Michael had turned her down for non-commital sex. She told the story of the dude unable to lift her 107 pound frame in order to engage in certain sexual position, etc. She then drunkenly lamented on how she shoots herself in the foot over and over again and it's not the dudes it's she. Kevin turned to her and said flatly, "Maybe you should stop dating gay men."

Wednesday, May 10, 2006

The News Lies to Us

880 am CBS news radio reported that kissing another person for a half hour a day reduces the suffering of an allergy victim. I'm here to tell you this is complete rubbish. I make out with Jack all the time. For more than a half hour a day. It's why I'm so unproductive. And still my allergies continue to wreak havoc on my body. Granted during our sexual explorations I do feel better. But after we've finished I immediately feel awful again.

I also find it hard to believe that mother nature hates single people. It makes no sense for trees to torment the sexless. These people are not having children and therefore pose less danger to the environmet which means less threat to the survival of pollen producing trees and flowers. It's basic Darwinism. But your not going to get basic evolutionary theory on the news. Just sensational science reports from Japan.

Also I need to post a correction. I quoted my aunt as having said, "The truth will not set you free." She did in fact say that. However, I forgot the rest of the quote which was " will only make you unpopular." The whole quote should read, "The truth will not set you free it will only make you unpopular." This statement is so true. So true in fact that my mere posting it has already made my popularity in the polls drop. Speaking the truth as made me nothing but unpopular. If only had remembered that second part of my aunt's adage who knows I might have friends besides Anna and Jack. Though, Hitler is very unpopular and he didn't tell the truth. Maybe it's not my truth. It could be my acts of genocide. I don't know.

Tuesday, May 09, 2006

More on Allergies

Apparently the pollen count is so bad that cats are sneezing. A comedic acquaintance of mine told me how her cat was been sneezing from the pollen. I said, "Good. How do you like it cat. Oh, it's not so fun now that the allergy is on the other paw. Yeah. What goes around comes around, kitty."
I guess pollen makes me very angry and bitter because I'm not even allergic to cats.

Yes, today I'm blaming my anger on pollen. Why not?

Monday, May 08, 2006

Go Ahead. Free Yourself. Lie. oh and Steroids

OK first thing is first. Below the 10th sentence of this post please find a link to a set I did in mid-March. The video/audio quality is marginal but I killed. You can't hear it, but I did. And You know I tell you when I bomb, so trust me when I write that I didn't bomb. Many regular readers should know by now I have this ridiculous need to be honest. The need is ridiculous because honest is stupid. In the words of my aunt, "The truth will not set you free." And she's right. Just ask anyone who's confessed to murder.


Come to think of it, some people who have confessed to murder are free. But they are either very rich and killed someone inconsequential like a woman, or they are a head of some state. They're the head of the state of liquid. HA!

I think congress needs to investigate the steroid abuse of the arbor in the NYC-tri-state area. There is no way the pollen these trees are producing is natural. Am I expected to believe that last year these same trees caused minor eye irritation and a few sneezes a day, and then 365 days later without any performance enhancing drugs that my eyes are now constantly tearing, my nose unabatedly running, and I sneeze enough that I need not bother going to confession (because I've been blessed so much--don't worry that I'm not Catholic. I'm related to a whole bunch of them it's close enough.)? Well, I don't know what our politicians are doing. This is a travesty. Think about the children. Kids are going to think it's fine to take steroids knowing the trees they climb do. I want limbs to roll! I vote!

Friday, May 05, 2006


I think we should pass a law in this country that if you're last name is Kennedy you shall not be issued a driver's liscence.

More Fun with Google

Have you ever googled the question, "who loves Rachael Parenta?" or "who loves Rachel Parenta?" I ask the second question to cover all my bases. There are people out there who misspell my name. For all of you who only asked the first question I reccommend you go back and ask the second one as well. You would think that if someone loved me they would know the correct spelling of my name, but those in love are also prone to typos. I don't know about you guys, butI figured google knows more than the magic 8.

For those of you who have wanted to google those questions but were too scared here's what I found out. The top google result was this blog. For years now I thought I hated myself. Turns out not so much. In fact I love myself more than anyone else on the internet. In more surpising news my parents did not appear at all. This news hit me pretty hard last night, but I'm doing better now. I realize it's better to finally know the truth than continue living the lie I have been for 28 years and 10 months.

Another high ranking result was Virginia Hopeful Adoptive Parents - Jim & Rachel VA. Parent Profiles.

That's crazy. I don't even remember meeting these people. But sometimes love doesn't make any sense.

Enjoy Cinco de Mayo.

Thursday, May 04, 2006


You know he's just not that into you...If after having met you he doesn't google you and find your blog.

Skip the Fantasy Fantastic

I have this fantasy about Jack. He steps out of the shower towels off and then...puts on a really smart looking high thread count suit with a vibrant maroon button down. Next, I saddle up next to him wearing an elegant yet sexy dress that reaches the floor. In my fantasy I am able to walk in high heal shoes and the shoes are comfortable.

We take our fine looking selves to the premiere of the movie version of my one woman show. The walkway is perfectly lit flattering our garments. Just before we head inside Jack runs his fingers through his hair with casual boyish charm. The after premiere party serves eggplant and has an ice cream sundae bar--classy. And then that's it.

I was reminded of this fantasy yesterday when I saw a fellow comedian in a dark purple button down shirt. I told the comic I had a fantasy of my boyfriend wearing a similar shirt. He looked taken aback. He said, "That's the difference between men and women. You all fantasize about clothes, we fantasize about sex." I told him that I fantasize about sex all the time, except then I tell Jack and we make it happen. The thing with the outfits is, we both hate dressing up, and I haven't even begun to write the one woman show.

Wednesday, May 03, 2006

Protesting Protestor, Capitalism, Italians, Nonesense

The illegal immigrants have been protesting the last couple of weeks. They're scared congress will pass a law deeming the immigrants fellons. There are varying groups who of course feel a need to protest the protestors. I have always found the people who protest protestors to be absurd. Where were these people before the original protestors. For example, the people who show up to protest the anti-war demonstrators. If they're so pro-war where were these anti-anti-war demonstartors during the peace. They should be out there protesting peace. They should have been campaigning to bomb Iraq since 83'. They could have had pickets made up "Peace is for Pussies." or "I want more federal debt start a war somewhere." I don't know. I'm just spit balling.

Some of the people protesting against the undocumented workers are people who want the jobs of the undocumented workers. When I see this stuff I realize how brilliant Capitalism is. Capitalism has energized people to fight each other over shitty jobs they don't actually want to work. It's brilliant. The illegal immigrants want to stay here and work for miniscual wages at god awful jobs. The people protesting the protestors demand we deport the first group so the second group can work in a meat packing plant with deplorable working conditions and no benefits, or sewage removal. I think the second group would be willing to work for the same unlivable wages as the first group.

Meanwhile, in quasi socialist countries like Italy you can't even get their corrupt politians to put in a full day of bribe taking. Italian politicians rather drink espresso than sit in their offices all day meeting with lobbyists. No wonder they're a second tier first world country. I think they only get first world status because they started the Roman Empire. Now, those were bribe takers. If Italy wants to be taken seriously as 1st world country I suggest a healthy dose of capitalism to their diet. That's right Italy, no more siestas, no more 6 week summer vacations. But that's the price you pay if you want your giant corporations to reap record breaking profits year after year.

I feel I should have a cohesive point here. Basically, capitalism is brilliant and quasi socialism is stupid. Because I don't like esspresso. Further, I think demonstrators should be pro-active and protest things on their own, and not prostest people already protesting. You might as well right a book like "Face it You're Not Into Him Either."

Tuesday, May 02, 2006

Anna Gets Some

Sick of folk musicians and their bullshit my best friend, Anna, attended a party thrown by an anthropologist in hopes to broaden her social circle. It worked. Anna met a 7ft Viking. "Rachael, it was great," she relayed to me. "I arrived at the party I saw this cute guy and decided I was going to make-out with him. I couldn't resist the horned helmet." She was brilliant. Usually, Anna sees someone attractive, runs to the otherside of the room, and then talks to the non-attractive married dude. It is considerably easier to talk to someone you could careless to impress. But Saturday Anna found courage. Congratulations to her. She didn't even bother to talk to anyone else at the party. She cornered her prey by the guacamole and chips and flirted. After hours of chit chat the Viking mentioned he was late meeting his friends for a meade drinking contest. Anna offered him a lift on her bike. "Rachael, I have to admit it was a challenge situating his long, gangly body on my handle bars, but I was not going to be deterred. I had an attractive non-folk musician in my sites and I was not going to throw this opportunity away. Though, I think I'm going to invest in some trick pegs. If this new me is going to be offering boys rides they should have a place to stand. "

He invited Anna into the meade hall. She accepted his invitation. She learned a great many things. Did you know Vikings have day jobs too. The life of a Viking is hard these days with all the anti-piracy laws that have been passed in the last 3oo years. Anna's Viking makes ends meet working in a tissue factory as a tissue quality inspector. He has to make sure that each tissue the factory produces is as soft as the fuzz found on a peach.

"Oh my god and get this, Rachael. He carries a flask just like you." "Really?" I replied in disbelief." "Yeah, I told him it was too bad you weren't with us because we could have drank for free from my best friend's flask. He smiled. Then he unscrewed the top of his viking club, reached in, and pulled out a flask. We laughed. It was a good time. At one point in the evening the Viking DJ played Perry Como song, we both got really excited. We couldn't believe we both were such huge Perry Como fans."

Drunkenly, they stumbled to Anna's bike where they made out. "Rachael, it was hard keeping our balance on the bike while drunk and 'fooling around' but we did it. Like I said I was not going to be deterred."

I told Anna it sounded like she and the Viking were a good match. She responded, "Flasks and music aren't going lead anywhere."

Monday, May 01, 2006